Innokenty Fedorovich Annensky

(1 September 1855 - 13 December 1909 / Omsk)

The Pine Of Reminiscence


I see always the page that is filled on
By the muddy-black blotches of ink.
I am able from men to be hidden,
But to where could I run from night’s brink?

All that live has become so distant,
That didn’t come – so perfectly watched,
And forgotten lines merge from that instant
Till next dawn into many a blotch.

I’m all there – in impossible answers,
Where the letters of dreams loom in sight…
I like children to be in a house –
And these children to cry in the night.

Submitted: Wednesday, April 21, 2010

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